Mosaic
by Sweets And Charades
Summary: A collection of drabbles, of small events that all matter in the bigger picture. No chronological order. No slash.
1. Substitute

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that you recognise. That applies to this chapter and the ones to follow it.

**Author's note: **I originally intended for this to be a series of nanofictions ("a type of flash fiction exactly 55 words long" _-wikipedia)_ but I realised that a) if I added anything more to this first one it would be ruined, and b) I would probably not be able to keep my other ideas to exactly 55 words - so here you go: a series of unnamed characters - some will be obvious, some will have multiple possibilities. Tell me who you think they are but most importantly: enjoy it :)

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><p><strong>Substitute<strong>

He stares at the intricately carved figurine in his hand.

Just one word, one syllable, and his delicately arched brow. "Why?"

And she laughs, a small sound of silver bells and joy and _life_, of silly situations and crazy gifts and frogs.

"Instead of the skull."


	2. First Impressions

**First impressions**

She was lost. That much had her five year old self gathered. She was all alone in this... big place. How could a mother disappear in the blink of an eye, a turning of the head? But she would not cry for help. She was a big girl now and it would not be long before her mother noticed her absence. Still, she frantically spun around in the search of well-known legs – and there! Just about to go up the escalator were her father's legs in their sharply pressed trousers and the faithful umbrella by his side.

She ran, pigtails flying, to his side and hugging his knee tightly she sighed relieved.

As they slowly ascended his warm hand coming to rest on the top of her head only further reassured her of safety after escaping a most frightful experience.

It was only at the very top when she released her precious father and with a smile stood to take his hand that she realized one fatal flaw: He was _not_ her father.


	3. Scent

**Author's note:** This one probably doesn't make much sense in the Sherlock context - yet - but it goes with two other pieces which I will post later and remember two things: smell is the one sense strongest connected to memory, and the summary said this is about small events that matter. Surely Sherlock doesn't delete a pleasant memory. I hope you like it.

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><p>The shelves looked inviting, basking in their glory of printed boxes with flacons hidden inside – their content promising to lift you up in the air when merely applying it like pixie dust. Of course there were also the darker ones who would lure the men into your arms like a siren calling the sailors and-<p>

The spectator shook her head, she was always drawn to them like an insect to the light and she always ended up with a wiggling nose because – even though she adored the design – the contents were rarely to her taste when she got up close. Sigh. She would always go for the vanilla one, the safe one, the one that made her smell like _sweet memories_ as her brother so eloquently put it. She cast one last glance at the perfumes when her eye caught a new one. Intrigued she carefully took the small test flacon and sprayed a bit of its contents on her wrist. Lightheaded florals mixed with the promise of something deeper – and she liked it. She genuinely liked it and not just because she wanted to like it but because it whispered of daydreams on a hill covered with flowers and just the clear blue sky above millions of colours.

Still smiling, she took a new flacon and headed towards the desk. It was time for change, for an _Iris_ _Dream_.


	4. Surprise!

**Author's Note: **This one's got a lot of interesting combinations... Which one's your favorite?

P.S. This is not the one to go to _Scent _- that will come a little later.

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><p><strong>Surprise!<strong>

It is said that Paris is such a well-visited city that if you go there you are bound to meet at least one acquaintance.

So it was almost naturally that when she and Mary went to Paris for "The Weekend With Absolutely No Men" that they ran into _him_.

She just wished that it hadn't been quite so literary.

On a busy street.

Applying her lipstick.


End file.
